


Martyrs

by Ebhenah



Series: Fictober 2018 [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Battle, Betrayal, Death, Science Fiction, War, mention of suicide, scifi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: Fictober18 Day 12Prompt: "Who could do this?"Original Fiction, Original CharactersScience fictionTW- war, battle, betrayal, death, mention of suicide





	Martyrs

They'd trained for almost half their lives for this mission. They'd grown up being told how vital they were to its success. Regular schooling had been put aside to build skills that would specifically benefit them in facing the challenges of this mission. They'd been loved and cherished by their parents and siblings and extended family, but always, there was the undercurrent of their 'destiny'. The twins that would undo all the evil that had led to this nightmare of a war zone. Every soul crushing defeat had been met with a reassuring pat on the shoulder and whispers of 'it will be undone'. They'd grown-up hearing the whispers, seeing the slightly averted gazes, feeling the pressure. They were custom made. Genetically designed. The perfect balance to each other, with the perfect balance of talents and skills to make them unstoppable.

Finally, the day came. Their entire lives had been building to this moment. Their heroes' journey coming to fruition at last. They would be victorious. They would save the world- the universe even. They would face the enemy, an elite task force at their back, and TRIUMPH… and once that happened, their lives would be their own. For the first time ever. After this mission, they could find love, they could take vacations, they could have hobbies, they could just be siblings, ordinary people for the first time ever.

They'd grown up in a war zone. They knew the realities of war. They'd had friends and loved ones leave on 'routine' missions and not return. They'd seen peers orphaned as whole colonies were obliterated. They'd comforted men and women decades older than them, just by being alive. They'd slowly become the surrogate children to every person on base that had lost their own offspring, every person who chose not to reproduce as a way to avoid that pain.

This was the mission that would justify their existence. Infiltrate. Sabotage. Obliterate. Dismantle. It was never going to be easy. But they were prepared. They were well-trained. They'd practiced and practiced. They'd made back-up plans. They'd accounted for contingencies. The universe was counting on them. They could not fail.

It had been a massacre. Chaos. His parents had been taken out first. Plasma blasts ripping through them, filling the air with a scent that ensured he would never eat roasted meat again. One after the other, they'd fallen- and he froze. His parents were the bravest, most skilled warriors imaginable… and in less than a blink, they stopped existing outside of memories. Still, he'd pushed on, the mission consuming him. His sister had nodded at him, her eyes filled with tears and a determination that said, clearly, 'we won't let them die for nothing'.

She'd been so wrong.

It was clear that the enemy was prepared for them, easily predicting and foiling every contingency plan, every emergency protocol. All around him, the team he'd grown-up thinking was unbeatable, immortal, dropped like flies. Dead or incapacitated in less time than it took to blink. Someone had betrayed them. Someone had handed them over to die in nameless corridors of a secret installation, light years from anything familiar. The specifics of this mission were incredibly well guarded. Only the most trusted inner circle knew anything about it. Someone they knew and loved had handed them over to be slaughtered.

In the span of minutes, every person he'd ever loved, he'd ever trusted, lay dead or close to it, at his feet, and the enemy just kept coming. It wasn't surprising that he and his sister were the last ones standing- the primary directive for the others was to protect them at all costs. The mission was a failure. The cause was lost. He knew it. She knew it. They'd let everyone down. They weren't heroes. They were just sheltered kids surrounded by corpses, ill-prepared for the reality of fighting the enemy.

Retreat wasn't an option. Even if they never reached their goal, they had to keep pushing forward. There was nothing to differentiate them from the other members of their team to outside eyes. That was done on purpose. There was no way the enemy could know who had been killed and who was still standing. That was important, because they couldn't risk being captured. Their options were succeed or die in the attempt. He moved his hands slowly, communicating with his twin sister from across the hall. She returned the slow, deliberate gestures. "I love you."

'Suicide by patrol'. It was a phrase that had come into being to describe the people who were so hopeless that they lost even the barest shred of self-preservation and eventually started to antagonize the patrols, just because they couldn't muster the strength or desire to keep themselves safe anymore. It had always struck him as so sad, so pointless… so HARD. He always thought it must be so hard to be at a point when your own life is worth so little to you that your anger at being oppressed overpowered it. He'd always wondered who could recognize the threat and think 'fuck it' and set it off on purpose when something as simple as surrender or retreat would save your life. Now, though. Now he understood. He and his sister needed to die. They needed to die at the hands of the enemy to become martyrs. It wouldn't do for them to put each other out of harm's way. It wouldn't do for them to take their own lives. The only option was suicide by patrol. They both knew it. His resolve wavered for a split second, eyes flicking to the anonymous battle armor that hid his twin's identity from all but him. It WAS hard, but it was also incredibly easy. All he had to do was crest his cover and it would be done. All she had to do was stand and she'd be taken out. Who could do this? Who could make that decision and follow through, knowing it was death that awaited. Turns out, he thought, as he and his sister moved in unison, planting themselves directly in the path of enemy fire, they could.


End file.
